


Coyote

by youremyqueen



Category: Death Note
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Casual Sex, Hand Jobs, Identity Issues, Kink Meme, Language, M/M, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youremyqueen/pseuds/youremyqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That was 67% unexpected," L says.</p><p>And in his head, Aiber is yelling <i>what the fuck?</i> because who actually says shit like that after a kiss? But his mouth says, "Only 67?"</p><p>Written for the second death note kink meme, prompt was: anything Aiber/L.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coyote

**Author's Note:**

> _"That's my way, Coyote, not your way."_
> 
> Originally posted 6/4/11.

Conmen don't have uniforms. Or, rather, they have too many. One for every day of the week and two on Sunday, but the rotation changes by the end, so they're stuck dressed-up completely different by the next Tuesday, and the Tuesday after that. A new face, a new name. If Kira's taught us anything--besides that all little boys and girls should go to bed praying to death to come down and play with bad men--it's that those are the things that matter.

Aiber is just another one of the playing cards he routinely pulls out of a deck that goes far beyond fifty-two. A is not the man who married his wife, or had a pretty, little kid that always squeals and giggles when when he slips out of his latest uniform and comes home with silly Japanese toys or Swiss chocolates.

But he is the man who accidentally stumbles--not stumbles, per se, because Aiber's not the type to stumble, but yeah, stumbles--upon L standing in the middle of an empty investigation room with no shirt on.

L doesn't offer any explanation, but Aiber can see the rips in the white shirt that's lying haphazardly by his feet, so he doesn't ask for one. He wouldn't have, anyway.

And it's a tad odd, you see, because detectives do wear uniforms. Awfully specific ones, with little variation, though when he'd first met the grand daddy of all detectives, he hadn't thought that jeans and messy Tee qualified. After a few more visits, he'd learned otherwise. But he doesn't often think of it as a uniform--he doesn't often think of L as anything but a big, black letter, if he can help it, because it's hard to reconcile all the sweets and the big, staring eyes with the genius hiding under them.

But here, now, shirtless and uncaring, L looks like he's missing half of himself.

Like when a man with glasses finally takes them off, and his eyes look bigger and so much more human. Without a shirt, Aiber can see an expanse of pale, naked skin that looks like it's never seen daylight, let alone the inside of a gym. He can see the place under which he assumes there's a heart beating, steady and human, instead of the metal gears and levers that he realizes, quite suddenly, he's always thought to be there.

It sort of turns him on.

And that's odd, too, because he's skinny and breakable-looking and his boss and L and--

"Did you have something to report, Aiber?"

L doesn't look at him when he says it, and Aiber finds that newly and greatly offensive. And yeah, he's got a couple things to report, but they're just trivial in comparison to whatever the fuck is going on at the moment. So, he says:

"D'you ever worry what would happen if all your hair got chopped off?" And with a knowing smile, too, even though he doesn't know, at the moment. L only spares him a glance. "Or hey, if you lose an eye, or something? I've seen you and Yagami sparring--could get out of hand one of these times."

L's eyes snap to him at the mention of the pretty Japanese kid, and Aiber holds himself back from an eye roll.

"I fail to see how this is relevant to our investigation," L says.

Aiber shrugs. "I guess not. It's relevant to you, though, isn't it? It'd be hard to stare people into a corner with those eyes of yours if you've only got half your ammo. You wouldn't be you, would you?"

L considers this quickly. "The loss of my depth perception would hardly be beneficial to my career as a detective, but it would have little to do with my identity. Outward appearance usually doesn't."

Aiber walks closer, leaning on the wall a few feet from L.

"But that's most of what we are, isn't it? What people perceive us as."

L tittles his head to the side, eyes wide.

"People perceive me as a letter on a screen and a mechanical voice. Neither my eyes nor my hair factor into my image, as far at the rest of the world is concerned."

"And that's what matters, is it? What the rest of the world thinks?" Aiber knows he's walking closer and he doesn't really know how, because he has not directed his feet to do anything, but there they go.

"Considering that the majority--"

He grabs L by that stupid hair, but the idiot doesn't even stop talking until Aibers mouth is on his, physically preventing speech. L doesn't kiss back, but he doesn't fight, either, or even do anything. At first, he seems a bit shocked, but he quickly accepts it, as he does everything. Another clue under his microscope, and Aiber doesn't actually think he's ever seen L using a microscope, but he's having a hard time thinking, because as much as L doesn't seem to be enjoying this, he sure a hell is.

He pulls back, because he wants to see that face, see it looking at him, but L's eyes are the same size as always and that pisses Aiber off more than it should, because its not like it's within the realm of possibility for them to ever get any bigger.

"That was 67% unexpected," L says.

And in his head, Aiber is yelling _what the fuck?_ because who actually says shit like that after a kiss? But his mouth says, "Only 67?"

"I did observe your somewhat aroused state, but my calculations put it at more likely for such a thing to be directed at one of the filing cabinets rather than myself."

And _fuck_ , why is that hot? Aiber kisses him again and, although he has clearly not had very much practice, L responds, seemingly curious. Aiber smirks against those pale lips and reaches for the chest, because it looks freezing, but he bets it's actually quite warm, because of blood-flow and all of that human stuff. And yeah, it is, and he can feel ribs and shaking and they're somehow turned around and Aiber is slamming L into the wall and L's hands are cold, but they're quickly heating up, and his mouth is sloppy, but shit, he's a fast learner and Aiber pulls back to nibble at that throat and--

"To what end is this leading, I wonder." L's voice is harsher than usual, but he manages to sound more composed than Aiber feels, which isn't actually much of a feat, but still. It bugs him.

"I think you're probably familiar with the process, virgin or not," Aiber responds against the flat of a collarbone. And okay, the virgin dig is only there to fish out a reaction, but of course, L doesn't offer one up.

"That is not what I am referring to."

Aiber pulls back to look at the bastard. L is a color that would not exactly blend in with snow, but he doesn't seem to be at the height of passion, either. Fucker.

"Just because I'm a conman, doesn't mean I always have an end," he says, as calmly as possibly.

"No, I suppose not. But you are a human being."

Aiber cracks a bit of a smile at that. "Yeah," he says, "so are you."

"Yes."

And that's way hotter than a lot of the porn out there, because Aiber knew it, he knew it and he can feel it under his hands, so he kisses again, harder and more demanding, and L seems alright with conceding. He lets Aiber pull at his zipper and get those idiotic jeans off of him, and shit, his legs are even skinnier than the rest of him and _why is that such a turn on _?__

L squirms a bit when Aiber touches his cock, and so he moves faster, harder, and the squirming increases. Those skinny legs of his jerk a bit, and it makes Aiber wonder if the guy ever even masturbates, because the look on his face suggests that he hadn't even noticed he had a cock, and Aiber feels oddly pleased with himself to be the one to bring it to his attention.

 _God, fuck_ , he can hear his own breath just as loud as L's and even as he pulls at it his own zipper, cock slipping out, heavy and more desperate than he'd like, he knows he has condoms and lube in his pocket, because he always has condoms and lube and--and L is reaching down for his cock, but there's not enough time, not enough time for anything, not enough time for breathing. He grabs L's wrists and pins them above those fragile shoulder, holding them light enough to be knocked away, but L seems a bit too preoccupied at the moment, jerking and making the sort of sounds that Aiber wasn't sure he could make, those wide, black eyes still staring straight at him, even as Aiber squeezes his shut, jerking once, twice--

He feels L shaking and then there is wetness on both of their thighs and wild hair in Aiber's mouth, but he is too busy trying to keep his balance to care. L slumps against the wall as his orgasm slowly washes off away, and Aiber can't tell if he ever closed his eyes or if they stayed like that the whole time. When Aiber regains the use of his motor functions, he rubs a hand against L's side, partly to calm him down--because he looks a bit shocked by the whole thing--and partly to make sure it's still skin there, and not some plastic covering.

L shivers at the touch, and yeah, still skin.

After a bit of breath catching, L stumbles away by a few feet.

"Aiber is worried about the loss of his identity, is he not?" he asks.

And it's not like Aiber expected something sexy or even remotely normal, even after that, but this is just a bit too clinical. He laughs unkindly.

"So, what, you were studying me just now? You should have said beforehand, I would have let you grab a magnifying glass."

It's not as if he cares. He doesn't care. It's just, the principle of the thing. Which, coming from a conman who routinely sleeps with people for information or false trust, does not exactly mean anything, but. It makes him feel sort of sick. Not in his stomach, although that's still doing flips, but, in his head. It nearly aches.

"Were you expecting something else?" L asks, but there's something off. Like he hans't gotten his bearings yet, hasn't figured out who he is or what he's doing here, and that makes Aiber's ache fade a little.

"Not from you, no," but then he pauses, and, "but, yeah. I mean, you're human." And even Aiber knows the aha! in his voice is embarrassingly childish.

"Yes," L says, zipping up his jeans. "Is that so mystifying?"

Aiber snorts. "Yes."

"I see." L sits down, pulling a cake from somewhere that Aiber doesn't quite see, but he wouldn't be overly surprised if he has a special pocket for them sewn into all of his clothes. All of his uniforms.

He's still not wearing a shirt.

L looks up at him again, eyes wide as ever. "You are worried that by being so many different people, you will lose who you truly are."

Aiber shrugs. L nods, seemingly sympathetic.

"As long as you are plagued by such thoughts, then you are alright. Whoever worries about such things is someone worth being."

Aiber looks up at him, sharply. He's not positive, but he thinks he's just been paid a personal compliment, by L.

He continues. "I sometimes forget to worry. So, thank you."

"What for?" Aiber asks, even though he thinks he sort of knows.

L looks up at him as his crouches in his usual position in front of his cake. "I am indeed human," he says. Then: "would you like some cake?"

Aiber doesn't really know what to say to either of those things, so he just nods, taking the seat across from L, who cuts him a much smaller slice of cake.

"Thank you."

L nods and eats his cake. Aiber does, too. It's good, lemony.

The ache is completely gone.

\---

A week later, L dies and Aiber goes into the bathroom and shaves off all of his hair.

The next day, he realizes that it makes him look quite comical, and that he can't do much work for a while, in this state. He goes home, a smile for the wife and a lemon cake for his daughter.


End file.
